Sucks To Be Me
by caitythelioness
Summary: Ron Weasley has a tendency towards the pessimistic.


**Disclaimer: All things related to Harry Potter in the following text is not mine. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Not a single sodding thing.  
**

**AN: Set after HBP, definately not in cannon with DH. Allow me a little license. Was possibly going to be more than a one-shot, but we will see how we go. Enjoy. Reviewing earns you good karma creds.  
**

**Sucks To Be Me**

I'm not much of a believer in Divination. I mean, all those lessons in that loft with Trelawney did nothing to make me see the credibility in the subject. And at the risk of sounding like Hermione, I can't see how any of it could possibly have any basis of reliable truth. I know it's just a matter of perspective. I mean, I'm a wizard, and to a Muggle that notion is absolutely ridiculous. So in the realms of the supposedly absurd, something in which I believe to be totally ludicrous must be doubly so, right? Follow me? Of course you don't. And do you know why? Because all my life I have been a failure. And I've found that generally being a failure means that communication is extraordinarily difficult, so that half the time no one has a bloody flipping clue what I'm banging on about. But anyway, believe it or not I do have a point. One that does actually vaguely relate to Divination and connect with my abysmal ability to be successful. I can't guarantee that I will be able to arrive at it concisely (like I said, communication not a strong point), but I guess that we will get there in the end. In a sort of round-a-bout way.

Having said that, my unwillingness to suspend my belief in regards to Divination is quite simple really. I don't believe in Divination, because from the way my life has worked out so far, I think everything has been preset. There aren't any variables that waver. There isn't anything unknown. Once things start working out in a certain way for you, then that's it. There's nothing you can do about it.

Take me. Ever since I can remember, I have always been the least fantastic of the Weasleys. I've had the potential to do so much, yet I've always seemed to fall disappointingly short. Like the time Fred and George stacked up the kitchen chairs and made me climb them to get their wands back cause Mum had taken them off them for trying to bewitch one of the muggle garden gnomes Dad had in the shed to give the rude finger every time someone walked past. I was only six for Christ sake, I would have done anything so they would let me play with them. But of course, being so unfortunately destined for failure, my foot slipped at the most inopportune moment and the precarious pile toppled. Cracked my skull of course. Mum went mental. Fred and George didn't talk to me for a week.

Things have pretty much continued on in a similar vein for another thirteen years. Didn't graduate from Hogwarts – failure. Didn't compensate for this lack of education by opening a joke shop – failure. Didn't have a serious girlfriend (except for Lavender, and we all know how that worked out) and then let the one was actually interested run off with some Bulgarian crumpet – failure. Not being as clever, good-looking, outgoing, articulate or lucky as my siblings – failure. I mean for Gods sake, I was there when Harry discovered the last Horcrux and then duelled with You-Know-Who. You would have thought that that would be my great chance to prove myself, wouldn't you? To display some amazing feat of courage, some sort of tremendous act of bravery to show that I am just as worthy to have the Weasley name. And I would of, I think, if I had been given the opportunity. If it hadn't been for the blessed light fixture that decided that the place where I just happened to be standing would be an excellent spot to land. So, in the most golden opportunity of my life to show my sterling qualities, I was knocked out by a flipping light bulb. Fantastic. To date, my greatest achievement is being Harry Potter's best friend. And even that's not saying much, seeing that my sister is his bloody fiancée.

I just don't understand how the genes that created Fred and George – those successful, inventive, flirtatious, good-looking, humorous and popular genes – could have resulted in such the opposite. It's like from the moment of conception things just weren't meant to work out for me. There's some sense of awkwardness that has seemed to pervade my life no matter how many times I go to Toni & Guy to get my hair done. Although I must say, I didn't go back after they gave me a sweeping fringe. I had to help Harry off the floor he was laughing so much. Like I said, once the destination is marked failure, it's a speeding train wreck where the emergency brake operator has nicked off for a smoke.

Hermione thinks it's all a load of tosh. She said something about a "Freudian regression", which I think was meant to be something to be offended at. But seeing as I didn't take Muggle Studies (I would have failed even if I did) and don't know the slightest thing about anything that Hermione talks about, that one flew right over my head. Maybe sometimes it isn't such a bad thing to be not-so-well-endowed with intelligence. All a matter of perspective I guess.


End file.
